Trouble Child

Michael had just finished stoking the fire when Birkoff slipped out of the bathroom. He sat on the sofa, tucking his feet under him, and took the steaming cup Michael offered him gratefully. Michael went into the bathroom and came out a moment later with Birkoff's wet clothes, which he took into the kitchen. He returned to the living room and sat at the other end of the sofa, sipping his tea.

"I've put your things in the dryer," he said after a moment, "but it will take a while for your jacket and jeans to dry. You're going to have to stay the night."

"Well, um, that was sort of my intention," Birkoff said softly, staring into the fire.

Michael looked over, saying gently, "Birkoff, there can't be anything between us."

"Why not?"

Michael nearly choked on his tea. "You know what would happen."

Birkoff snorted. "Michael, you may not have noticed, but you're the pride of Section One. If you asked, Ops would have me brought to you on a silver platter, covered in chocolate ganache and garnished with a sprig of mint,."

Michael just stared at him, and Birkoff glanced over. "What, you don't like chocolate?"

"I - " He took a deep breath, willing away the sudden stab of arousal that the image had conjured up. "Your imagination is entirely too vivid."

Birkoff only gazed at him innocently, and Michael frowned. "Birkoff..." He ran one hand through his hair. "You're seventeen years old."

"Good thing you told me," Birkoff muttered, rolling his eyes. "I was planning on cornering Operations tomorrow and asking why I haven't been getting my pension checks."

Michael sighed, trying to hold onto his patience. "You're too young."

Birkoff's eyes narrowed. "So I'm old enough to coordinate anti-terrorism missions with thousands of lives potentially at stake, but I'm not old enough to get laid?"

"That's not what I meant. You should find someone your own age."

"In Section? Oh, sure, I'll startkingking for a prom date first thing in the morning." Birkoff set his cup down on the coffee table and scooted closer, his dark eyes pleading with Michael to listen. "I don't want someone my own age, even if there was someone. I want you."

It took an enormous exertion of will for Michael to push him away and stand up. He walked to the small linen closet in the hallway, pulling out some blankets. "You can take the bed, and I'll sleep out here." When Birkoff didn't reply, he turned back to the couch, and saw that he had drawn his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, head down. "Birkoff?" Michael moved closer, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Birkoff?"

Birkoff lifted his head, and the desolate expression on his face twisted Michael's heart. "If I'm wrong, just say so."

"Wrong?"

"If you...if you don't want me. You don't have to make excuses. I can handle it. I'm a big boy."

It would be better, Michael knew, to tell Birkoff he didn't want him. It would be kinder, it would be wiser, and it would definitely be the responsible thing to do. But seeing the vulnerability he was striving so bravely to hide, and knowing how much courage it had taken for him to come here,

Michael couldn't bring himself to say it. "It's not that," he whispered, reaching out to stroke Birkoff's cheek.

Birkoff nuzzled into Michael's hand like a love-starved alley cat. "Then what?"

"It would be wrong."

"Out there?" Birkoff jerked his head toward the window. "Maybe it would. But there's no right or wrong in Section, Michael. Things just are, and whether they're right or wrong depends on your point of view."

"You'd regret it." Michael trailed his fingers along Birkoff's jawline. "One day, I won't come back from a mission, and what would you do then?"

Birkoff moved closer, resting his head on Michael's shoulder, and bemused, Michael wrapped his arm around Birkoff's shoulders. "You don't get it," Birkoff said softly. "I'm already afraid of that. I push it aside, to do my job, but the fear's always there. Whether or not you sleep on the couch tonight isn't going to change that."

He looked up, eyes wide and solemn. "I'm not asking for forever, Michael. I'm not asking for promises we can't keep. All I want is a memory to hold onto, when that day comes."

Michael gazed down into Birkoff's eyes, searching for something, anything, to say. In the end, he found only two words. "One night."

Birkoff nodded slowly. "One night." He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Michael's. "I promise, it'll be enough."

Michael kissed his forehead. "It will have to be."